Face Me
by ThriftShopYarn
Summary: "You think I don't know why you're not doing anything? Why you've never done anything? You're trying to put off the day when your precious public finally gets it and realizes you're all just like us!" Featured OFC, further description inside.


**So. This one needs some explaining. The featured character is an early draft of an OFC for the movieverse I am currently working on refining. Her story has changed a lot since I wrote this about 3 years ago, but it should give you an idea of her personality. **

**The premise of this came from my curiosity about why some heroes in the Marvel universe are adored by the public, while others (most obviously the X-Men) are hated. I have not read a ton of comics, and the Marvel world is huge so I'm probably missing something, but it seems to me that while all of these characters live in this interconnected universe and are aware of each other, The Avengers or the Fantastic Four never have anything to say about how mutants are treated. I wanted to explore that a little. I did not really have anyone particular in mind, so feel free to fill in the anonymous superhero with whomever you want.**

**Soundtrack: _Another Bag of Bricks_, by Flogging Molly. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. Or anything Marvel. **

**Face Me**

It took me forever to find him.

I mean, from the stories you'd think it would be impossible to sneeze in New York City without hitting at least _one_ spandex-clad superhero. In actuality though, when they're not out protecting some innocent or posing for newspapers or tabloids they are extremely hard to spot. They don't just hang out at some restaurant or club at night like civilians. They don't appear anywhere that's not official. Because they've never had to learn how to blend, to hide, to stifle.

Not like me.

Funny how he's here on the one night I actually wasn't looking for one of them. Fate rocks.

I can just see the top of his head peeking out over the roof. It's an easy jump from the dumpster to the fire escape. I pull my hood down low and start to climb as quietly as I can.

One step, then another. How _dare_ they? Preaching to our wonderful citizens about how great they can be, that they can bring order, peace, by just putting aside their differences and working together. Build a better world for their children. Meanwhile mutants are dying under their feet, and they have _nothing_ to say to that. We don't exist.

Two more steps. Three in the past week. I knew those kids. They existed. One was Brotherhood. Great work genius. Rid the city of the mutant scum by bringing Magneto's wrath on us. The other two were just street kids. I knew them. They just wanted to keep low, to survive. They never hurt anyone. They didn't deserve to be executed, to have their chests shot open.

Nobody deserves that.

I'm here. I pull myself over the roof ledge carefully, but he has already turned and is watching me.

I stare; he stares. Then I step forward.

It's time to say what I came to say.

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She's young, and small. That's all I can tell by looking at her. Her coat blends her in with the shadows and her hood covers her face. Her posture is still and non-threatening, but I'm on guard just in case. You can't be too careful in my line of work.

I stare; she stares. Then, I speak. Go on the offensive first and establish my control over the situation. That's the procedure.

"Hello," I say politely.

She doesn't say anything at first. She takes a reflexive breath, and then holds it as if she's thinking about her next words. As if she's making a split-second decision to either speak or scramble back off the roof. Then her voice comes, rough but determined.

"I'm here to ask you what you and your friends are planning to do about the murdered mutant kids."

No one had yet asked me that, exactly, or any of us, except to ask if we were behind it followed by almost indifferent looks when we said we were not. As I have to do with many a concerned citizen, I try to be diplomatic. "Yes, we did hear about that, and I assure you we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of it. But what with everything that has been going on right now…"

"That's BULLSHIT!"

The words are spit out, hard and cold, in a voice that should not belong to any child. What happened to her, I wonder, that gave her such a voice?

"You think I don't know why you're not doing anything? Why you've _never_ done _anything_? You're trying to put off the day when your precious public finally gets it and realizes you're all just like us!"

I open my mouth instantly to protest. "Are you insinuating that we care nothing for the people we have devoted ourselves to serving? It's ridiculous…" To my horror I start to stutter. "…It's…it's not the _same_. They _know_ that. Our origins…"

She cuts me off. "I don't care how you got it. A mutation is a mutation. You're all nuts if you think the government you serve isn't scared shitless of you." She steps closer, and her voice drops to absolute seriousness. "You want to know the difference between you and me?" she asks. "You're predictable. They know where you live, why you show up, what you do in the evenings. They can identify you." I can't see her eyes, but I know she's taking in my costume. "God knows you make it easy enough. As long as they can see what you do with yourselves when they don't need you, they're fine with it. It's when one of us pops up with no story, no explanation, no pattern, that they don't like us so much."

Well, that's…discomforting, to say the least. But true? Yes, there is ugliness in this world, but I've seen these people do great things, and…you know what? Why am I even trying to justify myself here? Haven't I _earned_ it? "Listen," I say. "Hard as it is for you to believe this, my life has not been easy. " She snorts. I ignore her and continue. "But I've been given a gift, and I'm using it. You know, if you weren't so angry, you might be able to accomplish something. You're not helpless-"

She explodes. "So those kids were _murdered_ because they _chose to be helpless_? Because they just wanted to live their lives? You have _no_ idea…" Then I freeze and she stops talking, because the weather vane to my left has started to violently shake, and the dead leaves at our feet have started to swirl around her legs like a miniature cyclone. I hear her take deep, meditative breaths before she raises her head and says in a much different voice, "Not all of us want to save the world. Some of us just want to live in it, no questions asked."

She turns to go. I just watch. There is no protocol for this, as far as I know. "Where are you going?" I finally ask. She pauses at the fire escape. "I'm going to do what you won't," she says. "Someone needs to speak for them."

I know what I should do, but "I'm sorry…" is all that comes out.

"I get it," she says sharply. "Kittens don't save themselves from trees, and all that." And she's gone.

When did I completely lose control of this situation?


End file.
